Highland Sanctuary

by Jennifer Hudson Taylor

  "Heavenly Father," Evelina said. "I pray that ye bless this family and our guests. Make Gunna well. Bless this meal for our nourishment. Please protect Serena as she walks to the castle and the villagers as they are out and about. We give ye thanks. In Jesus' holy name. Amen."

  Evelina and Serena passed the food to Gavin and Craig before serving themselves. Once everyone had a full plate, they ate in silence for a few moments.

  "This is verra good," Craig said, biting into his second bread cake.

  "Thank ye. We're glad ye're here to share it with us." Evelina smiled, glancing between Gavin and Serena. "Will ye be giving Serena more dance lessons?"

  The innocent question hung in the air. He met Serena's gaze. Her green eyes flickered before she glanced down at her plate. It wasn't like her to avoid eye contact, but she seemed to be doing so now. Gavin swallowed before turning to her mother. "I thought I might show Serena a few more dances this evening."

  "Nay." Serena's voice carried across the table. "There's no need. I won't be going."

  "Good morn, lass!" Philip greeted Serena with a warm smile buried in a gray bushy beard. His soft brown eyes averted one's attention from his yellow teeth. The wrinkles in his weathered face gave him a look of tenderness that Serena adored.

  "Aye, it's an excellent morning. I must say, ye look bright and cheerful." Serena stepped under the raised gate. She never liked walking under the iron spikes. If Philip lost hold of the rope the heavy gate could crush down upon her.

  "Aye, my wife is feeling much better. She hurt her back a few days ago and took to her bed, but this morning she rose with the sun." He laughed as he let go of the rope. The gate rattled, rolled, and crashed to the ground. "Does my heart good to see her up and about. I've reached the age where I don't know how many more years the good Lord has in mind for us. I treasure every moment now."

  Serena tilted her head, regarding him with a new respect. It must be a wonderful feeling to love and be loved like that—to have one's life with someone so special.

  "I had not known she was feeling poorly. Please tell her I'm glad she's better."

  "She'll be 'appy to hear it." His grin broadened.

  Serena hurried through the courtyard. She had tarried long enough. By the time she reached the main hall, she breathed heavy from her vigorous haste. Slowing to catch her breath, she paused as a door closed. Booted footsteps echoed toward her. Realizing the laird would be coming to break his fast, she pulled a stick from the mantle, lit it from the fire burning in the hearth, and carried it to the dais.

  The laird entered as she lit the two oiled lamps in the center of the table. He wore a dark tunic that matched his hazel eyes. A plaid draped over his shoulder, fastened by a silver pin with the MacBraigh crest. When he smiled, she realized his auburn mustache had been trimmed. His jaw bore a fresh shave, and he smelled of lye soap and musk.

  "Good morning, Serena. Ye certainly brighten this dreary hall. I wonder if I could have them put in a few windows?" He looked around as if contemplating the idea. "Mayhap up there. ' Twould be nice to have light from the ceiling. I've seen it done at other castles in England." He pointed to the top of the wall facing the front.

  "I've never seen aught like it." She tried to imagine such a thing. "I think it would be interesting." She carried the burning stick to the wall candelabrum on each side of the dais and lit those as well. Waving the long stick, she blew out the flame. Lingering white smoke curled in the air as the smell of burnt wood drifted past her nose.

  "I'll see what the MacKenzie brothers recommend." Iain walked around the table to his chair, but he didn't pull it out and sit down. Instead, he watched her replace the stick on the mantle. "Is that a new gown? I don't recall ye wearing purple before."

  Serena glanced down at the material flowing over her figure like an elegant tapestry of plaid with dark blue and purple lines.

  "Nay, I was looking for some fabric to make a decent gown for yer feast. I found an auld gown my mither had discarded years ago and altered it." She lifted the hem from the floor. "This is the result. Unfortunately, I couldn't find aught better. I don't wish to shame ye, so I've decided not to attend. Please forgive me."

  Iain's lips dropped in a frown and his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. "Of course, how remiss of me. I didn't realize—" He rubbed his forehead.

  "Please, it isn't yer fault." Serena twisted her hands in distress. "I'll make certain that ye have what ye need, that the cook prepares the proper food, and musicians arrive early, and I'll be here beforehand to direct the servants."

  He grinned and stepped around the table toward her. "Lass, ye're always so eager and willing to serve others. I don't host many celebrations such as this. I want this to be an enjoyable event for ye as well. Ye've worked hard and deserve it."

  "I don't understand." She was a mere servant. What should he care about her joy? A shiver of fear climbed up her spine like a foreboding shadow. "Ye said it's a welcome celebration for the MacKenzie brothers. Might I ask how I'm to be involved?"

  "If truth be known, I was hoping to dance with ye, and I don't know any other occasion in the near future." Iain stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I hear ye've already promised the first and last dance to Gavin MacKenzie. Will ye save one for me as well?"

  Serena's head spun until she felt dizzy. She had never thought of Iain MacBraigh as the romantic sort. He seemed so wealthy and above her. Surprise left her void of words. She stepped back and took a deep breath.

  "I see I've stunned ye." Iain looked down and paced a few feet and came back. "Lass, I don't wish to alarm ye, but I mean to tell ye how I feel. These past few months, watching ye run my household with such perfection, I've come to enjoy yer company and believe ye'd suit me. We have similar tastes, likes and dislikes, and view things the same way. I've watched ye make decisions that I would have made. When ye walk into a room, ye brighten all the walls and people in it. It warms my heart to have ye near, and I've come to value yer opinions."

  Unable to break eye contact with Iain expressing such thoughts, Serena's skin grew warm. She blinked several times as she tried to form a response. "I'm honored that ye're so pleased with my work, and if I were attending the celebration, I'd be most happy to save a dance for ye."

  Iain's face transformed into a smile, and she noticed a few freckles across his nose. "If a gown is the sole reason for yer reservation, then allow me." He held out a hand, gesturing for her to leave the hall. "There's something I'd like to show ye upstairs."

  Serena glanced back at the empty dais table. "But yer food will soon arrive. Ye don't want it to be cold." "It'll be fine. Right now, it's more important that I do what I can to ease yer mind." He bent his fingers, waving her forward.

  Like a wavering child who didn't want to obey, Serena took slow, deliberate steps. Where did he want to take her? Most of the rooms on the upper floors were bedchambers. Serena gulped. Lord, please let him behave with moral character as he has thus far. Protect me.

  While she had no reason to fear Iain's intentions toward her, she figured a bit of cautious prayer wouldn't hurt. Her soft shoes were silent as she climbed the staircase, but Iain's boots were like a charging stampede upon her heels. When she reached the landing, she paused, waiting for further instruction.

  "This way." The laird stepped around her, taking the lead along the banister rail overlooking the stairs they'd just climbed. They passed a maid carrying bed linens down to wash. Serena smiled and nodded in greeting. She had to hurry to keep up with Iain's long strides.

  The dark walls gave the hall a primitive look of ancient mystery. A musty smell clung to the corners and to the carpeted tapestries hanging on the walls between the gilded framed portraits.

  He led her past several doors that she assumed were chambers to a small door at the end of the hallway. She had never thought much of it as the entrance was quite small. Iain slid the iron lock back and pulled the handle. The hinges creaked like a wailing cat.

  "I always thought this was storage
space, but the other day I discovered it's a stairwell passage to a tower keep." Iain grabbed a lit candle, carefully removing the brass sleeve from the wall. He stepped into the black hole, ducking his head under the low threshold.

  The deep abyss of the unknown caused Serena's heart to skip with fear. She hung back, afraid to go where it might not be safe. Iain held out his hand, but she didn't take it. Instead, Serena shook her head.

  "I'd rather stay here." She crossed her arms in defiance.

  "Trust me. It's naught more than a few steps to a sewing room. I believe it must have belonged to my aunt. The room is a treasure trove."

  Serena leaned in and peered inside, but couldn't see beyond the three steps that the candle light afforded. Iain's description peeked her interest with the mystery of it. He held out his hand again, and this time she accepted it.

  "Stay close. The light isn't much, and I don't wish ye to trip."

  She clung to the stone wall as they climbed the spiral stairs, wide enough for only one. Iain's frame blocked most of the light, but Serena kept her footing by listening and sensing the rhythm of his feet upon each step.

  They came to a small, narrow room filled with cedar chests, baskets of yarn and spools of thread, flax combs, a spinning wheel, and a weaving board. Two windows with closed shutters would produce a decent amount of light on a sunny day.

  "It's more than a sewing room. This is a weaver's paradise." Serena strolled to a window and opened the shutters. Brightness nearly blinded her. She blinked and dropped her gaze, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  The laird bent over and blew at a layer of dust on top of a chest. Rather than ridding it of the unwanted dust, he ended up stirring it into the air like a fine mist clouding and settling back down. He unlatched the cover and lifted the lid. It squeaked and groaned. He shook out a lovely satin gown in a forest green shade.

  "I realize that these are probably out of style, but I thought ye might find something ye like and could alter it. None of it will do my aunt any good now that she's departed this world." He waved a hand around the room. "Ye may use anything in here."

  "Could I give some of it to Kyla, the village seamstress?" Serena asked. "She would have more use of it than I would."

  Images of new dresses for Lavena, Birkita, and Cara came to mind. Her heart skipped to the beat of joy as she eagerly sifted through the other chests.

  "On one condition," the laird said. "Ye have Kyla make a gown for ye and yer mither. Both of ye must attend my feast."

  Gavin drove the wagon that Iain had lent them. Craig sat beside him in lengthy silence, each man occupied with his thoughts. Of late, Serena consumed Gavin's mind. Having spent the morning in her company didn't help matters. She had taken him by surprise when she announced her intention of not attending the laird's feast. Gavin had been looking forward to dancing with her. The disappointment drained him, leaving him in a brooding mood, a rare thing since he disliked brooders.

  Craig laughed.

  Curious, Gavin abandoned his sour thoughts and glanced at his friend. Craig held a pensive grin as he shook his head.

  "Och, mon! Share the jest," Gavin said. "I could use a wee bit of mirth about now."

  "I canna believe how that wolf sat outside and whined for Serena. When she told him to wait, he laid down and dropped his chin over his paws like a wounded bairn."

  "I've also seen how possessive that wolf is over the villagers." Gavin stretched his legs out over the wagon and propped his foot up on the side. The wood seat was much harder than his saddle. By the time they returned this evening, his backside would be sore.

  "Still, ye'd think the animal belongs to Serena instead of that giant," Craig said. "I wouldn't mind the loyalty of a wolf like that."

  "I would imagine it's the freedom Quinn gives him that gains his loyalty and trust," Gavin said. "Forcing him in a cage would rob him of the chance to choose loyalty. Come to think of it, I suppose that's how our Creator thinks about us."

  "How did our conversation about a wolf turn into philosophy about religion?" Craig crossed his arms and averted his gaze upon the flat land layered with peat moss and heather.

  "Think about it." Gavin leaned toward Craig. "God could have made us like puppets with no other thoughts or desires, other than to serve Him day and night in never-ending loyalty. But He didn't. God gave us the free will to choose as we please—to be loyal to ourselves or Him."

  Craig blinked as he stared at Gavin. After a few seconds, his brows wrinkled, and he shook his head in disbelief. "Ye do realize ye just compared all of mankind to puppets?"

  "Aye." Gavin grinned, scratching his temple. "But I think ye missed the point."

  "I get it, my friend." Craig patted him on the back. "Ye just have a strange way of explainin' it."

  For a while, they could see the outline of homes and buildings marking the town of Braighwick across the flat moors. As they drew near, the images grew larger and sharper. The sounds of rolling carts, horses clopping, children playing, and people talking mingled in every direction. A man chopped wood outside his house. On the other side of the dirt street another man hammered a hot iron, molding it to perfection. They passed a stable that reeked of hay, manure, and dust. Flies buzzed around the open gate. Gavin resisted the desire to cover his face with his plaid.

  Most of the people were commoners dressed in simple, worn-out clothes. Dirt and grime covered their faces and hands. A handful of women gathered at the well. A few carried empty buckets. Others struggled with heavy burdens.

  On they rode until they came upon merchant booths at market. Craig handled most of the bargaining for ready-made tools, while Gavin inquired about stonemasons and materials that would need to be ordered and custom made.

  By the time their loaded wagon was piled high with no extra space, Gavin spotted a woman merchant with yards of fabric. He finished tying their supplies in place while Craig took care of the other side.

  "Craig!" He tapped a barrel to gain his friend's attention.

  "Aye?" Craig peeked around the corner, only the top of his head and eyes visible.

  "I'll be right back. I need to see one more merchant before we leave."

  "I thought we had everything?" Craig grunted as he pulled the rope tight in a secure knot.

  "We do. This is for someone else." Gavin strode away before Craig could talk him out of his purpose.

  He stepped around an elderly couple, avoided a horse, and nearly trampled a child who was after a sweet treat at the next booth.

  "Robert, come hither!" the lad's mother scolded. She scooped the lad in her arms as he kicked and whined. "I'm verra sorry, sir." Her brown eyes searched Gavin's, seeking understanding as her skin darkened.

  Gavin offered her what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Nay, the lad is fine, only quick and light on his feet as he should be. He's merely exercising a healthy pair of legs."

  "Thank ye." She turned and fled before the bairn could wiggle out of her hold again.

  Gavin fixed his attention on the fine fabrics laid out on the table. The merchant was a middle-aged woman who bent over a pile of goods showing them to a young lady near Serena's age. It gave him time to browse the choices.

  There were various plaids, but Gavin paused to access the solid satin colors. He wished he knew Serena better. It would help to know what she would prefer. Instead, he would have to go with what he thought would look lovely on her and hope she liked it.

  "Lookin' for some new gowns for yer lady?" a squeaky voice asked.

  Gavin lifted his head to see the merchant standing in front of him, an eager smile showing a missing side tooth.

  "I need somethin' special for a feast at MacBraigh Castle."

  "The new laird finally entertainin' guests, is he?" The woman threw her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes on Gavin as if he was a target. "'Bout time, I'd say. The mon's been a complete mystery ever since he moved in, six months past. I was beginnin' to think he'd be as much of a recluse as his uncle ever was." She made the s
ign of the cross from her forehead and over her chest. "God rest his poor soul."